


A Sensual Arrangement

by blanketspace



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Businessmen, Contracts, Dirty Talk, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Everybody Loves Prompto, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gladio and Aranea are that swinger couple and I have no regrets, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Online Dating, Pet Names, Sugar Daddy, Swingers, Unrequited Love, love for hire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 12:35:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11253303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketspace/pseuds/blanketspace
Summary: He has perhaps only a few minutes to himself before there's thrashing and moaning about how it's complete and utter cruelty to have a man work on the weekend, coupled by the shuffling of feet and the clatter of one too many dishes in the sink.  Noctis will pour too much cereal before Prompto has a chance to warn him he used all the milk yesterday and then he'll probably get sat upon for his penance. And harshly mocked for his poor communication skills and desperation that made him sign up for a dating website in the first place.  He might even get thwacked in the temple with a spoon.





	A Sensual Arrangement

     Most people develop rational decision making around the age of eight; when the pro and con lists start forming in their minds, firing off neurons and tackling down consequences as easily as their id wants to outsmart their ego. Now, of course, this process actually starts well below that age but vocalization of that entire mentality doesn’t really surface until much later.  A person thinks about what they want, how they can achieve it, and how they can achieve it by even fewer means than previously designed – the general overall concept of the path of least resistance. Desires meets plan, plan meets requirements, and requirements get whittled down a willingness to settle.  It’s all about the most minimal amount of work for the best payoff and no one can really fault anyone for thinking that way.  

     Prompto is no different, chewing his bottom lip into small pieces of gnarled flesh, bloodied and flaked. He listens to his best friend, Noctis Caelum, a relatively successful individual (being the son of a company man had its perks), who for all intents and purposes did not need to listen to the weary woes of a boy so sunken in student loan debt that even the local sperm bank couldn’t offer him enough money.  Nor did they take him on the application, but that’s another story, another time.  

      He had tried and that’s putting it mildly, to fit into society by the accepted financial standards befitting his current lifestyle. A college student, on the cusp of graduation, settled with more decimals and commas in his loan bill that he had ever seen in his bank account. Or his parents’ bank account, for that matter.  No one is hiring and if they are, it’s not him they are looking for. It might be the hair, it might be the attitude, it also might be that somehow his advisor talked him into a liberal arts major because he’d be happier there.  

     He’s not happy now. Anxiety settles like a stone in his belly.

     Noctis plucks the mushrooms off his pizza to his side, grumbling about being in charge of order next time before spiraling back into his original, interrupted sentiment. And Prompto’s finger rhythmically taps on an arrow key, flipping through screen to screen to screen to scre-- 

     “Dude, you can’t be serious. Are you really signing up for that?”  

     There's only so long you can keep your best friend’s voice out.

      A well-animated title screen flashes in the background:  _SENSUAL_   _ARRANGEMENT_ , complete with sparkles and a gaudy cursive font with far too many billowing and ribbon trails on each serif. Someone should look into that, like, as soon as possible. Nothing spells gaudy mishap like poor website layouts. Even for the rich. 

     “What do I have to lose? I mean, girls do it all the time and there has to be someone out there for me. Who is willing to like…?”

     “Pay all your bills?  Give you a sweet penthouse apartment? Fund your expensive arcade habit? Which by the way, I said I’d pay for the last round of games.” 

      The growl of his stomach that had forgone lunch in favor of earning the top score in Justice Monsters Five protests loudly at this fact.  Lamenting now would only prove a point, however.

     “Maybe?”   

     Arms go up, a gripe swiftly following before limbs clap back down on a creaky desk.  Eyes flick over the advertisements on the page, trailing over different paid packages for signing up, the concepts instilled in each member and the general notion that he has a one and four chance of being matched up.  It’d be nice for a change, not to struggle to eat or not have to continue to crash on this apartment’s couch. It’s a nice couch though, soft in all the right places; he even now has a body groove fit to his back.   

     “Prom, think about it.  You’re a dude. Not to say that you aren’t attractive or whatever, but you don’t need to be on this kind of site to find someone to take care of you.  Just find a company willing to hire you, not some weird on a site willing to exchange money for whatever creepy things people exchange money for. “ 

     “And who is going to do that, huh? I have no marketable skills. Sure, I like taking photos and am an astounding conversationalist.” Noct snorts and Prompto huffs.  “– but that doesn’t really look that good on paper and you know it! Plus, I would make some lonely widow totally jazzed, especially if I get to be her new pool boy.”  He wants to snap back that it must have been ridiculously hard for his ebon haired friend to make in the business, that having daddy’s job once he retired wasn’t a gift at all but really a burden. Something about a silver spoon came to mind, yet Prompto had realized a long time ago that Noctis worked for a lot of his future, whether or not it was fed to him on a lead – he didn’t lack for ambition. 

     Noctis laughs.  “Whatever. We both know it’s not going to be some lonely widow who private messages you at three in the morning but some skanky dude wondering if he’ll be the first to – “ 

     “Oh mhemm geeeeh, shut up!”  He flings a crumpled tissue back at his friend’s head.  ”– And you know I can’t crash here forever. Also, I gotta finish this profile thing before it times me out again.”

     “Again?”

     “I might have started this… last night.”

     “Man, You’re hopeless.”  Soft footfalls pad behind him and the sensation of fingers rustling in his hair gives way to a squawk.  He hopes the scowl he shoots up at other is enough to send a message when his head jerks away. It doesn’t deter Noctis, however, hand coming to clasp down on a freckled shoulder and his sentiment continuing. “– You can stay here as long as you like, Prom.  I’m not kicking you out. It’s actually kinda nice having you here. Makes this whole taking over Dad’s company a little less, I don’t know, weighty? Is that a word. I think it’s a word. Shit still stands though, I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave. I’m not even sure why you’re still sleeping on the couch.” 

     “Aw, you’re totally in love with me,” he replies, reaching to squeeze the other’s hand.   

     The flat of Noctis’s free palm smacks light against the cuff of his ear, grumbling, “Shut up, nerd.”

     It’s only when Noctis walks away, mumbling something about an early morning coupled with a gargantuan yawn sweeping the living room, that his attention returns, vividly, to the flashing letters on the screen.

      Perhaps there’s a point to be had – what type of trouble _is_ he asking for? A shuddering consequence to barrel down on his self-esteem most like, yet the type of people on this website? Billionaires, company men and women, who couldn’t find love so settled for a very illicit-sounding version of companionship. It had been presented as a means to set financially well off people with proverbial leeches on their accounts, investing in a return on affection; glorified prostitution if someone wanted to get technical, which Prompto always did.  No difference besides that compared to other dating websites, especially a number of people looking for love for all the wrong reasons: innumerous.

      There are pictures of girls strutting like pin-ups to hitch that hog he knew he stood no contest and men who wore blatantly flashy make-up, wigs and looking better than half those girls he just saw - all asking for egregious amounts of money.  Contracts were a thing, timed dates, and  _allowances._  

      Prompto’s nose crinkles.

      Had he not filled out what he hoped to get for his weekly, he might have made some off the wall joke about a very uncomfortable kink.  Maybe he’ll make it to Noctis later, when all is said and done and this concept chirps back up during their second bowl of morning cereal (the first is for contemplation and nearly falling asleep in).  His amount is set well below the six figure line, almost even dipping questionable into the four-figure line. Hell, he'd take three just to afford groceries for a change.  He doesn't need a designer brand bag he can't even pronounce or a car he doesn't even know how to drive ( -- won't say no, but won't ask for it ).  Ideally, a small apartment would be nice. Not completely paid up for but just help here and there on the rent while he puts out most for utility and saddles himself with what he imagines will be a third job.

     Can't see a ' Sugar Daddy/Momma ' as the site called it if he's too busy and honestly, with as little as he's asking, he doubts any complaints would arise. 

     He spares one last look at the title screen.  The profile photo looks okay, uploading three seemed like a safe bet, and even put in an album of the shots he took. At the very least, if no one finds him appealing, they might want to scout him for photography.  Nervous laughter is all he can do to keep that mentality strong in this moment.   He figures he filled enough information out in the dislikes and likes category, explained his situation well enough, his goals and dreams, and also what he’s looking for outside of a human bank to keep him fed.  All in all, it didn’t seem like any other dating site yet the title attached to his initials and username: _GCLDENCHOCOBRO_  left a queasy sensation in his stomach.

     He hits the refresh button on his profile after a solid forty-five minutes and one microwave burrito, squinting at the screen that blears a dullish blue. 

 

> _WELCOME BACK, SUGARB♥BY_.

     Ew.  

     A proverbial sense of buyer’s remorse curdles in his stomach. Which, to him, is hilarious considering he hasn’t bought anything at all. In fact, in a certain manner, he’s the one selling which makes this whole scenario blatant debauchery.

      It doesn’t take him particularly long to locate the settings and profile buttons. For as cheesy as this site is, it’s easy navigation makes for some smooth transitions. Oh, deliberation is a road fraught with edge issues and measures best considered. So, of course, he takes at least one more bite of his radioactive dinner and a thoughtful chew before clicking the delete button right beneath the bottom of his newly crafted profile. 

      Noctis might be right, maybe he’ll just apply himself and garner a job in the near future or at least not binge on video games.  He doesn’t need someone to take care of him, hold his hand and pay for nice meals (cup of noodles is perfectly acceptable and damn the man that says otherwise !). Prompto swallows vaguely frozen in the pocket of supersaturated vegetables and meat product, grimacing.   He looks at the screen awaiting a final confirmation message that his immediate descent into madness had been aborted, floundered, and forgotten into the ever swirling abyss of the internet.  Completely dramatic but so was crying over stale potato chips early in the week.

       But the pop-up that comes up immediately spells disaster.

 

>       ' WE'RE SORRY, BUT DUE TO OUR FRAUD PREVENTION, PROFILES CANNOT BE DELETED UNTIL [5] DAYS AFTER CREATION; OUR SUGARS SAFETY AND SECURITY IS OF TOP CONCERN. IF THIS PRESENTS A PROBLEM, PLEASE CONTACT OUR CUSTOMER SERVICE AND WE WILL BE MORE THAN HAPPY TO ASSIST YOU IN ANYWAY THAT WE CAN.'  

      "You gotta be joking," a snarl falls from greasy lips, posture slumping.  He hits the button again and again and again, enough to make his fingers sore.  "Stupid freaking fail-safe that actually makes sense and _works_ for a change. I could have something like this on my Blizzard account. Noooo, that makes too much sense and would be good customer service!"  Five days doesn't seem so bad, he figures, resigning to defeat and idly chewing on that frozen nugget of burrito mystery still lodged between his teeth.  

       Two frustrated groans, one scathing letter to customer service (rewritten and then deleted entirely), and around four looks at the ingredient and nutrition label of his burrito later, Prompto succumbs to the very simplistic thought: _nothing is getting done tonight_. He doesn't have work in the morning, but Noctis does and that boy will drag him out of his slumber in a righteous fashion befitting a man robbed of four complete REM cycles. If Noctis is up, Prompto's up -- seems fair, in a hellscape kind of way.  Breath steals away in a yawn, fingers moving to shove a paper plate to the edges of a couch-side table 

       Breath steals away in a yawn, fingers moving to shove a paper plate to the edges of a couch-side table.  More on this in the morning, perhaps he'll get someone to bend the rules for him with enough sobbing and a ploy towards his young, foolish naivete.  Unlikely, but it's worth a shot.  

       He grabs the blanket hoisted over the backside of the couch, settling down into his body groove, tucking limbs carefully into the securing warmth of cotton and polyester.  And exhaustion catches up with him faster than anticipated, screen-weary eyes drooping into a rather restless slumber.

* * *

      The morning breaks before either him or Noctis wakes. Sun shining into the rather opulent apartment, owned under the other's company name, near immediately blinds the freckled blond the second his eyes open to cast a look at his phone. Six forty-one in the am. Great, utterly early and on a Saturday no less.

      He has perhaps only a few minutes to himself before there's thrashing and moaning about how it's complete and utter cruelty to have a man work on the weekend, coupled by the shuffling of feet and the clatter of one too many dishes in the sink. Noctis will pour too much cereal before Prompto has a chance to warn him he used all the milk yesterday and then he'll probably get sat upon for his penance. And harshly mocked for his poor communication skills and desperation that made him sign up for a dating website in the first place. He might even get thwacked in the temple with a spoon.

     Prompto groans into the leather of the couch.  He doesn't have time to sprint to the bodega and back. 

     Fingers reach for the laptop on the floor beneath him instead. Instinct or dependence on technology, he's not sure, but habitually checking his email in the morning had become a thing of the past few months: advertisements for job offers, emails between potential employers, and things he knows he should attach his resume to but does anyway.   

     Blue eyes are met with familiar, painfully so, ribbon font and glitter.  Oh, he never closed out of it last night before falling asleep. The pop-up of depression still hanging center stage in the middle of his screen. Four more days.  

     He closes out of it and ritual gets the best of him the second he clicks to refresh the page.  Maybe some poor customer service agent took pity on his immediate regret twenty minutes after posting his profile and --- 

 

> _WELCOME BACK, SUGARB♥BY_.
> 
>      YOU HAVE [1] NEW MESSAGE! 

       "Wait, what?" He sits up, spine cracking over the arm of the couch as he tugs the laptop into his lap.  A message, already? From who? Why? Customer service would have used the email he signed up with, not this and -- 

         No, don't click it. Don't entertain it. Or it could just be a harmless WELCOME message that's usually tucked into these types of things. Which would be nice but horribly wrong considering he got one of those the second he made up his mind to die on this dating hill.  

        Message sent at 1:30 am, alright, a late worker. Profile photo of the sender is definitely male, age range says something between the 25-30 so not completely gross or an old geezer.  Why someone close to his age can't find a date with an already amassed fortune makes Prompto question several key personality traits but that would be judging and he's not about that life right now. Not on his friend's couch.  

        He moves the cursor over to click it, anxiety brimming in the back of his mind.  So much so that a behemoth yawn and angry shutting of a bedroom door makes him squawk and yell, earning a dirty look from the other side of the room. 

       "Morning, weirdo," the raven haired man grumbles.

       "H-hey... Morning, buddy," a nervous chuckle and he shuts the laptop, wedging it between his body and couch. "Sleep well?"

       "No."

        He'll follow Noctis into the kitchen in a moment after he discovers that there is no milk and blames it on some proverbial best friend betrayal. What he won't do, however, is tell him about that message already garnered. Nope, can't, won't -- a mantra he keeps repeating in his brain as he slips out of the groove his body created on the sofa.  

       He gives the laptop one last hard look, mouth puckering into a frown. 

       Later. He'll read it later.

       Or never. Never is good too.    

       Distantly, he hears Noctis curse his name.  An empty milk carton hits his chest.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because I need to write this AU and have it not be Pretty Woman all over again. But let's be honest, it's Pretty Woman but way more complicated. 
> 
> Comments/Reviews are so appreciated, you have no idea! No Beta, we die like men. 
> 
> Also, it should be noted that I have had nothing but astounding customer service from Blizzard. Y'all are peaches, xoxo. Follow me on my personal (hrist.tumblr.com) or my Prompto Rp! (aperturetrigger.tumblr.com) ! Especially if you want to see me write better than I do here. Also for those wondering, I'm still working on FWIWs fourth chapter, I'm just really busy.


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